


Back Into You

by marimoes



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking, Established Relationship, F/F, Gen, Getting Together, M/M, Main focus/relationship will be mhawke/anders, POV Multiple, Rating May Change, Will tag other characters and relationships as they occur, Yearning, with art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26343379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marimoes/pseuds/marimoes
Summary: “Shut up, I know you’re fine, but being in here versus outside is weird. I hope they at least give you a cool color for your stitches. Like purple!”“Oh yeah, purple. Do you think they take requests?” Garrett asks, pressing the towel harder into his palm.“We only have black, sorry.” The curtain behind Garrett slides back all at once, making both he and Marian jump. “Now, what—Garrett?”“Garrett?” Marian echoes, staring across the bed.
Relationships: Anders/Male Hawke, Female Hawke/Merrill
Comments: 15
Kudos: 44





	1. Doctor's Orders

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter details some stitches and other ER unpleasantness, so if it bothers you, just be aware in order to skip a bit. Nothing is explicit, but I like to warn regardless.

A low tone settles across the room, echoing against the slick primed floors and mirrored wall. It’s uncomfortable, Garrett realizes, to watch yourself like this. In the other part of the gym where he usually resides, the mirrors don’t bother him. Lifting weights isn’t embarrassing in the slightest when all you’re doing is trying to make sure you’re lifting it high enough and that your face isn’t too red. That’s to be expected without issue. 

But this—

“Breathe in, moving down, hand flat against the ground between your feet.” 

Garrett does as directed without trouble, trying to ignore the woman next to him that is shaking a little. He wants to help her, as he does with most people he comes across in his daily life, but knows now isn’t the place. She would likely get offended—or worse, even—the instructor would look at him… again. 

“Other arm stretching up as to touch the ceiling, release,” the instructor dictates, doing the motion himself. He’s positioned several feet ahead of Garrett, right in front of the mirror. The way his body bends makes Garrett hurt just looking at him. Just how flexible is he? “Hold, breathing in for four, out for four.” 

Garrett is only here because Bethany would have his head otherwise. She swears by this class, saying that it has lowered her stress by a mile. How very suspect she isn’t able to make it this week. How fortunate he is that she had an extra mat ready to go at a moment's notice. Better than Carver, he supposes, who would likely have just dropped him off without a word. 

She was right about the stress thing though. For the last—Garrett looks around to find a clock on the wall, blanching at the position of the minute hand—hour, he’s been able to relatively zone out. Save for apparently staring too hard at the instructor in the first few positions and getting a not so subtle hint to do otherwise. 

As he breathes out his four count, along with it comes the last of his headache from before. 

“Alright, back to center slowly, and stand.” Garrett watches the twist of fabric cling tight against lean muscle before him, settling only slightly as the instructor stands. He reaches up, rolling his wrists in the air before looking back out to the rest of the studio with a soft smile. “Take a minute to roll anything else out, but that’s all I have for you all tonight. Great job, everyone! I hope you found a little peace and comfort in our last hour together, and that I see you again on Thursday.” 

Garrett does as he watched the man do a moment before, grimacing at the slightly loud pop it makes. “I don’t think it’s supposed to do that. Won’t I get arthritis and die?” 

“No,” the instructor snorts, curling up his mat, “you won’t.” 

“Are you just saying that, so I don’t back out of coming again, or because it’s true? I’ll still come back even if you say otherwise, you know,” Garrett replies, curling his own up before tucking it under his arm. 

The instructor blows a loose hair away from his face with a laugh. “I’m telling you the truth. But I’m glad you would come back regardless. You’re very good for a beginner… very stable. You concentrate a little too hard though, so we’ll have to work on that.” 

Garrett scratches the back of his head in slight embarrassment. It soaks the pads of his fingers in light sweat, making it tickle as more works its way free down his spine. Why is he so fucking sweaty just from bending around? Whatever nerves he lost in the last hour come back all at once having to focus on the man in front of him in a different way. His eyes trace his body quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice before meeting his eyeline again. 

He could probably snap this man in half if he needed to, or at least he looks at it. After the last hour and seeing the control he had in those harder forms—maybe not.

“I have to ask—what made you come? Not that I don’t like seeing new faces, but no offense, this just doesn’t seem like your kind of place. Oh and, I’m so sorry, I didn’t introduce myself at the start of the class.” The man holds his hand out between them, pale and freckle dusted like the rest of his uncovered skin. “I’m Anders.” 

Garrett takes his hand, shaking it firmly, and laughs when he feels Anders jerk in his hold. “A habit from a rather traditional father, I hope I didn’t hurt your hand. I’m Garrett.” 

Anders narrows his eyes in thought, letting them snap open in realization all at once. “You’re Bethany’s older brother!” 

A swallow forces down Garrett’s throat. _Great_. Bethany has talked about him. Even just to say his name is more attention than he would prefer, but there is no going back now. Only forward as he finds out what his notoriously chatty little sister has said about him. 

“That I am. I do hope she hasn’t told you anything that makes you regret having me in here. Not that I’m some criminal or anything, but you know how siblings can be,” Garrett laughs awkwardly, and only then realizes he’s still holding Anders’ hand. 

Part of him wants to keep hold, simply curious how long he will allow them to touch. 

“I don’t, actually. I’m an only child myself,” Anders explains. His eyes flit to the wall as a grimace presses on his lips. “We need to get out of here. Next class starts in ten minutes and I hate dealing with the instructor. ‘Body Bootcamp’ or whatever nonsense goes on in here with Cullen.” He looks back to Garrett, smiling again before slowly pulling his hand back. The absence feels cold with the chill of sweat on Garrett’s skin. “I hope to see you again Thursday though. Perhaps with your sister, if only so I can know just who I have staring through my soul while doing a cobra pose.” 

“I was _trying_ to make sure I was doing it right! I’m still not sure,” Garrett argues. He rolls his neck, letting it pop twice before sighing. “But yes, I do think you’ll see me then, and maybe more in the future. It was nice to relax a little.” 

“Good! Now,” Anders says with an anxious smile as he starts to walk backwards towards the door, “Good night, Garrett. See you Thursday.” 

Holding a hand up, barely shaking it to the side, Garrett waves. “Good night, Anders.” 

* * *

“It’s not that bad.” 

“ _I_ _t’s not that bad_. Shut up, will you?” Carver bites, nails doing the same to the steering wheel. “You sliced your hand wide open on that knife because you weren’t paying attention.” 

“Who wants to guess how many stitches it will take?” Garrett asks, ignoring Carver in favor of turning around to the back seat. “I’m thinking fifteen.” 

“ _Don’t_ encourage hi—” 

“Twenty, minimum,” Marian replies, crossing her legs. “Anything less and they’re ripping you off.” 

“Can you get ripped off at a hospital? It’s not a store,” Merrill asks, tilting her head in thought. Marian and Garrett both nod, making her gasp softly. “Oh, that’s terrible.” 

“Will you stop lying to her? Why are the two of you even coming, anyways?” Carver grits out as he pulls up to the ER entrance. He pushes Garrett’s belt buckle open before his own and roughly opens his door. “It’s not a spectacle.” 

Marian stretches up onto her toes as she gets out, yawning. “It’s a boring ass Wednesday night. This is at least interesting, and I wanted jello.” 

“Oh! Jello!” Merrill chirps, clapping her hands together. “I hope they have the green kind.” 

Carver blows out in irritation as he locks the car, shoving his hands in his pockets a moment later. He was supposed to be somewhere else tonight. Somewhere that is not the emergency room because his older brother got too excited answering a jeopardy question while opening an avocado. 

The doors glide open with Garrett jogging gently up to the counter. He leans, smiling weakly at the woman behind the counter when she fixes her eyes on him. 

“Hi. I have cut my hand open,” Garrett starts, pulling the nearly soaked tea towel away from his hand. The woman sighs and points to the right. His brows furrow in bemused concern. “Don’t I need to fill stuff out first?” 

“I would think you’d like to stop losing blood first. Back through those doors,” She says, but pauses taking in the others, “You can take one person with you. It’s not a club; the rest can wait here.” 

“I’ll—” 

“Come on, G,” Marian cuts Carver off, tugging on Garrett’s arm. “Through the doors? Then what?” 

A small clipboard is passed across the desk and scooped up under Marian’s arm. The woman presses a small button on a panel next to her and a soft buzz echoes from the direction of the doors. “I’ve called you a doctor. Just head into the doors and there will be beds lining the walls. Third one down on the right should be free.” 

“Great! Let’s go.” Marian again jerks forward on Garrett’s arm, tugging him along to another set of automatic doors. “Carver, Merrill, we’ll be back soon. Save me some jello.” 

Garrett gets a single glance backwards to Carver to mouth an apology and is met by a tight lipped scowl resting beneath rosy cheeks. They both know Marian didn’t do this on purpose, but it doesn’t make it any less awkward. His crush on Merrill has been apparent for years now and even with Marian dating her, it hasn’t subsided. Much to his own chagrin at times. 

Times like now. 

Passing from the waiting area through the doors, a strong wall of iodine and alcohol hits both of them. It makes them both exhale sharply in a near gag, but Marian still keeps walking, counting softly under her breath looking for the right bed. A man groans softly, eyes closed, in the first one they pass. His face is flushed with little color gracing anywhere else as the IV runs into him. It almost makes Garrett’s stomach turn, but he doesn’t get to linger long enough for it. 

He’s instead pushed and moved until he falls back against the edge of a matching mattress. 

“Ok, this is the third one. Just—lay down,” Marian frets, hands ghosting over Garrett’s skin, urging him to lie back. It earns a bemused laugh from her brother, so she shoves harder. “Shut up, I know you’re fine but being in here versus outside is weird. I hope they at least give you a cool color for your stitches. Like purple!” 

“Oh yeah, purple. Do you think they take requests?” Garrett asks, pressing the towel harder into his palm. 

“We only have black, sorry.” The curtain behind Garrett slides back all at once, making both he and Marian jump. “Now, what— _Garrett_?” 

“Garrett?” Marian echoes, staring across the bed.

Looking up, past the stethoscope hanging on his neck, Garrett finds a familiar face. One dusted with the same freckles he admired not twenty four hours prior, but are far lighter under the shine of fluorescent lights. “ _Anders_?” 

“What are you doing here?” Anders asks, eyes scanning quickly before landing on the hand that has been hidden away. “What did you _do_?” 

Garrett sighs, pulling the hand back over, undoing the cloth on his hand. Anders doesn’t hiss or make any sort of noise at the wound, only starts grabbing things from the cart next to the bed. It all clatters, one at a time into a tray and for the first time since it happened, Garrett feels fear. Just a touch, watching the man he saw yesterday move with a different kind of precision. 

“Well, you see, I just couldn’t _wait_ to see you again,” Garrett starts, swallowing the waver in his voice before continuing. He can feel Marian’s confusion on his back almost as if she were leaning on him. The ride home is definitely going to be fun. “Thursday was simply too long.” 

A laugh presses from Anders’ lips as he pulls Garrett’s wrist to him. “How sweet. Though I definitely won’t be seeing you tomorrow with something this deep. At least a week, maybe longer.” Garrett hisses as a cloth is drug across his palm, cleaning the wound. “You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?” 

“If he does I’ll just torment him until the end of time,” Marian says, nearly sing-song, and sticks out her tongue at the glare thrown in her direction. “Now, better question. How in Maker’s name do you two know each other and _why_ were you going to see him tomorrow? I’m missing vital information, and frankly, I’m hurt.” 

“Who’s this?” Anders asks, priming a small syringe with numbing before pressing it into Garrett’s palm. He looks up, catching Garrett’s eye before smirking. “Girlfriend?” 

“MAKER, NO!” They both yell at once before laughing. Garrett settles quickly, given the gentle tug on his arm, but Marian keeps laughing. 

“This is my sister,” Garrett sighs, continuing when Anders gives him a confused look. “One of my sisters—specifically my twin. I’m surprised Bethany didn’t tell you that too.” 

Anders shakes his head, pulling up a stool before sitting down. He tugs a light down, focusing it on Garrett’s hand. “She only mentioned you. Never said there were three of you.” 

“Four,” Marian corrects. “Two sets of fraternal twins. Our parents were _so_ very blessed, obviously.” 

Anders hisses in a breath, trying not to laugh. He swipes the area with iodine, painting it dark before turning back to the pan once more. Drawing it up slowly, he pulls the black material forward, and probes Garrett’s hand gently. “We can talk more about it in a minute, but can you feel that?” 

“Not a thing,” Garrett replies. Anders nods, scooting closer to gauge the start before hovering his hand over the skin. “I don’t have to watch you do this, right? You won’t judge me and kick me out of your class if I close my eyes?” 

“I won’t,” Marian answers, already turning to face the doors they entered from. “A cut is one thing, watching it close back up is another.” 

“No, I won’t judge you. Just promise to sit still. I know you’re more than capable,” Anders whispers, hands starting to work. 

Garrett shuts his eyes, leaning his head back against the overly flat pillow on the bed and breathes slowly through his nose, then out his mouth. Over and over, following the same slow counts as Anders guided him through yesterday. Pressure tweaks at his hand, but no pain comes. Only the soft sounds that come with Anders leaning against the bed, murmuring to himself as he works. There is a sharp snip and Garrett’s eyes fly open at once.

He finds Anders pushed away, grabbing more supplies from the drawer. Before he can cover it, Garrett spies the handiwork done in the form of twenty equally perfect stitches. _Damn._

“Well, Mar, he didn’t rip me off,” Garrett laughs weakly, holding his hand up to allow Anders to feed gauze around it.

“Twenty exactly?” Marian asks excitedly, turning around. “What do I win?”

“You win,” Anders starts, placing the last piece of tape on Garrett’s hand to hold the wrapping in place, “The extraordinary prize of a bag of gauze and tape to replace on your brother’s hand every day.”

Marian clicks her tongue, hissing sharply. “Hoped it was a car, really.” 

Anders laughs, turning back to the drawers for a final time. He’s still focused on getting through all the mental steps of dealing with the wound, Garrett figures, watching his mouth move silently through an unwritten list. It’s charming in a way that he never would have gleaned from watching him the day before, bent in a pretzel a few feet away. This couldn’t feel more opposite if he tried. 

A hand nudges Garrett’s left shoulder gently, drawing his attention back to Marian. She leans in to his ear, breath tickling him as she whispers, “So, did you two like fuck or-”

“Stop!” Garrett hisses, knocking his shoulder sharply into her chest. 

“I would take it easy if I were you,” Anders says, eyes still cast down onto the clipboard in his hands. He’s scratching information down in a handwriting Garrett can’t begin to decipher from this angle. Tearing off a page, he hands it blindly onto Garrett’s lap before tapping his bottom lip in thought. “Nope, I think that’s it. So,” Anders sighs, turning to catch his gaze wholly for the first time since he started, “Do I want to ask how you did this?” 

“I won’t lie to you if you do,” Garrett responds, and when Anders nods his head forward for him to continue a heavy breath blows from his lips in defeat. “We were having dinner together for the first time in a while and Marian turned on Jeopardy. I am very good at Jeopardy—reigning champion in our house for years actually—” Marian tuts, head turning to look out to the rest of the floor. “Anyways, I was opening an avocado when the category about high fantasy was called out. I got distracted and—”

“Yep. Not an avocado, just your hand. Seen this several times, but not because of _Jeopardy_ ,” Anders snorts and pushes up to stand. “Either way, please be more careful in the future. If you want to see me there are easier ways to do it.” 

Marian twists back at once, a smile quirking on her lips as she demands the eyes of her brother. He doesn’t give them as they’re still focused on Anders’, but slightly flicks his left hand in acknowledgment. “Like your class? In a few weeks, of course.” 

Anders readjusts himself before jerking at the sound of another buzz in his pocket. Through the doors behind them, someone else starts staggering in, pale as a sheet. “Ah, no, other ways. Just—be sure to go over your paperwork before handing it to the front desk. I have to—” And he’s gone, jogging forward to catch the man before he slumps onto the floor in front of the bed next to them. 

Looking at each other wordlessly, the twins grimace before quickly slipping out of the ward. The air in the lobby is again like another world, leaving Garrett’s stomach to settle back down to where it was before. To work there all the time… he can’t imagine it in the slightest. No wonder he teaches classes on the side. He needs the escape more than any of them do. 

“Forms?” The woman asks, holding a hand up over the counter without looking. 

“I haven’t gone over them yet and he told me to,” Garrett says, almost sheepishly, pressing the paper into his chest. It crinkles along with the anxiety on his skin. 

She sighs, retracting her hand beneath. “Be quick about it, we don’t exactly like people lingering here.”

Marian nudges Garrett’s shoulder and jerks it in the direction of the waiting room. “I’m going to go find the others, just meet us by the car when you’re done, alright?” Garrett nods in confirmation, earning a soft pat on his shoulder before watching her jog off around the corner. 

Pulling the sheet away from him, he finally runs his eyes over all the information Anders wrote down. A lot of it is as illegible as he thought it would be, and what he can make out doesn’t really seem like it’s for him anyways. Just a few boxes with little x’s next to them that he needs to fill out himself for his insurance. He presses the paper against the counter, carefully pulling his wallet from his pocket before realizing he can’t write. 

He could certainly _try_ to write left handed but—

“Need me to fill it out for you, handyman?” The woman asks, holding her hand out again. “Didn’t really think that one through, did we?” 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Garrett says, placing it in her hand along with his insurance card. 

He watches as she reads over the form quickly keying in the information Anders no doubt added, but when she pauses at the bottom, concern sinks in Garrett’s chest. Her brows are furrowed for a moment before a smile breaks out on her face. She pulls a sticky note from next to her computer, jotting down something before harshly smacking it on the counter beside Garrett’s hand with his card resting on top. 

“You’re free to go Serah Hawke, just take this—doctor’s orders.” The woman’s voice is much warmer than it’s been the entire time they’ve been here. Almost amused if Garrett didn’t know any better. 

“Hey! You’re still not done? Come on, we’re all waiting,” Carver nearly yells from the door, causing Garrett to grab the note and card before shoving them in his pocket. 

Throwing up his injured hand, Garrett waves and gets a short one in return before hurrying towards his brother. Carver eyes him carefully as they walk, and even harder when they settle into the car again. Looking into the back, Garrett finds Marian is happily humming around a plastic spoon with a container of orange jello in her hands. 

Garrett slides back down in his seat with a groan, chin resting heavily on his chest. His stomach growls softly, but nausea still lingers on the back of his throat. He wants to be able to eat dinner and to not have gauze for a hand, is that too much to ask? Shoving his left hand into his pocket, the crunch of the post-it resting at the bottom registers in his ear, and he jerks it out. He unfolds it clumsily with one hand, leaning closer to the window so as not to let the others see. 

What if it is a notice that he only has a few days to live? Or that if he isn’t careful he could lose his hand? Surely, he would find out some other way than a post-it. When he gets it undone, Garrett realizes it is in fact neither of those things. The only thing on the paper is a phone number with a short note beneath it. 

It reads, in a cursive much nicer than Anders’ own handwriting: “This is his number. Don’t blow it, he’s too kind for his own good.” 

Garrett sighs, quickly shoving it back into his pocket. It earns a questioning glance from Carver before he looks back to the road.

“What’s got you smiling after getting stitches? You can’t possibly have enjoyed that. That’s too bizarre, even for you,” Carver says, stealing another look. “What’s on that paper you not so sneakily shoved back into your pocket?”

Garrett grins, excitement pulling harder on his cheeks. “Doctor’s orders.” 


	2. Get the Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has a day off, but that doesn't mean he's going to relax.

Vibrations register to Anders first, soft and constant against his chest before any sound does. That crackling low purr he wakes to most mornings is once again being breathed against his chin. Pounce settles harder into his chest, sinking small nips of his claws into the shirt he’s now kneading into. When Anders finally opens his eyes, he’s met with the squinted line of Pounce’s. 

“Good morning, boy,” Anders murmurs, pulling a hand from under the covers to stroke down Pounce’s back. “You always know when I don’t have to go in, don’t you?” 

The tabby continues to move his paws, just barely, as his purr gets lower and louder. His tail flicks up each time Anders reaches his lower back, lowering just to perk up again a moment later. 

Anders squints at his nightstand, registering the time on his clock as seven. 

“That’s a reasonable amount of sleep,” Anders reassures himself, letting his head fall back against the pillow. Pounce stands, stretching his limbs with a small shake and huff, leaving Anders to follow suit with his arms above his head. “Right. Breakfast.” 

The two take to their usuals—a bowl of dry food with a single spoon of wet on top for Pounce, and a cup of coffee and half a bagel for Anders—sitting quietly in the living room. It’s not a terribly large space, nor does it need to be, but Anders often wonders about a life in a larger place. If only to watch Pounce dart through the halls and up and down stairs to his heart’s content. 

Perhaps, even, to get another cat for him to play with. 

Looking out the window, Anders hums content around the edge of his mug. It’s rainy, with the light clouded into what most would consider dreary, but he considers it perfect. Perfect for a day in that he has absolutely nothing he has to do. 

Not a single place he has to be. Rare as it is, he still doesn’t want to stay in and lay on the floor like Isabela often tries to convince him to do. 

_Isabela._

Anders pulls his phone up to see about ten unread messages that his ‘do not disturb’ caught during the night and laughs out a groan. Three are from Isabela, another two are from Nathaniel, and a whopping five messages are from a number he doesn’t recognize. 

It has an area code he knows as another part of the state, but there is no reason for anyone from there to text him. Much less five times overnight. 

He saves them for last, partially from curiosity and partially from anxiety. 

Isabela sent him one message referring to “a really hot guy at the bar”, but half of it was misspelled. So, the second text is a correction, which is also incorrect, leaving the third to fix that one as well. _Standard_ , Anders thinks, smiling to himself before replying to ask what he looked like. 

Nathaniel’s are also usual. One is a calendar invite for coming over Saturday and the second is a request for Anders to “stop using do not disturb, what if someone needs you?” 

Anders bites his cheek back from a bigger grin before replying, “Don’t need me, then.” 

The message preview for the last message from the unknown number is simply the word, “Sorry.” 

“Maybe they got the wrong number, realized it, and apologized,” Anders rationalizes out into the air to Pounce who has now taken to cleaning himself. 

When he opens the rest of the messages, Anders finds a wall of text, and with a held breath he starts to read. 

“Hey,” the first one says, and is followed by far more, “this is Garrett. The guy from the class and also the ER with my hand. I suppose that should be enough of an indicator of who I am, but then again, I’m not sure how many people you actually deal with daily. Anyways, the nurse at the counter gave me your number and I don’t know how legal that is, but I figured it was worth a shot given the fact that you are really attractive.” 

There is a gap of ten minutes before the next text. “I never considered until right now that she could have lied to me and this could be a stranger and not in fact, Anders, the really nice and hot yoga teacher/doctor(?). So if that is the case then please disregard these messages.” 

Another five minutes. “Right. In case this is in fact Anders, I’d like to see you again when you’re free. Since I can’t very well do yoga with an injured hand, by your instructions, I’m a little impatient to wait several weeks. If this is too forward, or you’re already rightfully taken then I’m sorrt.” 

“Sorry.” 

Anders reads the messages over two more times before setting his phone in his lap. His stomach twists with a feeling he hasn’t felt in quite a while now. Butterflies, giddy ones, all fluttering as quickly as they can. 

Isabela is always telling him to take more risks; drive a little faster, stay up a little longer, do another shot of gross liquor. This feels like one of those times, thumbs resting against the keyboard on his screen. 

“What do I even say to all that?” Anders mutters aloud, dulled fingernails tapping against the back. “Hi, this is the right number, and oh by the way you’re also incredibly attractive to the point where I almost got hard when you stared at me during yoga? _No_.” 

Pounce jumps up onto the couch, twitching his tail against Anders’ shoulder, purring loudly before settling beside him. And he finds his stomach settles a little as he runs a hand down the tabby. 

_Anxiety melts so quick against fur_ , Anders thinks, and then makes a soft ‘oh’ in realization before pulling his phone back up a final time. 

* * *

There isn’t much that can surprise Anders anymore. Working in an emergency room does that to you, he supposes. Even still, the fact that Garrett agreed to meet him this afternoon with so little warning was a surprise. 

A pleasant one, seeing as he was almost positive that his risk wouldn’t pay off and that they would continue missing each other back and forth until what supposed attraction Garrett has for him wears off. He rereads the texts again, trying not to let blush creep up his neck at the words. 

“Hey!” 

Anders drops his phone against the table with a clamber, cursing under his breath as he pins it down. Looking up he finds Garrett, same as he saw him last; hand still wrapped up nice and tight. That’s good, at least. He’s taking care of it like he told him to. Though he could really use some help tucking that—

“Hi! I mean, hey, thanks for meeting up on such short notice. I don’t exactly get a lot of time off,” Anders says, forcing himself from his thoughts. He looks back at the counter for a second, turning back to find Garrett sitting across from him. “Oh, so, do you want anything? Everything here is really good.” 

He watches as Garrett squints at the menu for a second before humming. “Anything you recommend, though? What are you drinking?” 

Anders looks down at the mug in his hand and lets out a weak laugh. “Don’t… tease me, ok?” 

“What are you drinking, Anders?” Garrett grins, leaning forward over the table, giving an exaggerated sniff. “Is that—pumpkin? Looks like a latte too—” 

“Yes! Ok? I’m drinking a pumpkin spice latte! They’re very good and I refuse to admit anything different,” Anders argues, pulling the mug up for a sip just to prove his point. “I would recommend it if you like that sort of thing. They also have a really good chai tea.” 

Sinking back in his chair, Garrett nods thoughtfully while stroking his beard with his unharmed hand. “So you like spices, hm? Good to know… good to know.” 

Nerves drag fine lines across Anders’ chest. This isn’t nearly as easy as the other two times they saw each other, but then again he was leading both of those situations. Now they’re on even ground and Garrett’s presence is terrifying. 

Which is exactly why they’re here. 

“Also, why here?” Garrett asks, looking to Anders’ left cautiously as a calico trots along a beam. “I’ve got to admit I’ve never been to a cat cafe.” 

“It’s interesting, I think. Much better than a lot of people at a regular cafe,” Anders offers, holding a hand out to let a tuxedo cat walk beneath it, petting him. “They’re all adoptable and need as much human interaction as possible so they transition to homes better. Also, I survive solely off coffee at times, so it’s a win win.” 

The chair beneath Garrett scrapes softly against the ground, sending the cat to dart away from the noise. “Ah. Shit. Sorry, kitty. I’m going to order something real fast. Need another, or a snack, or—” 

“No, no. I’m fine, thanks,” Anders assures over the rim of his mug. 

Garrett nods before walking past and as discreetly as he can manage it, Anders lets his eyes follow him as he goes. 

He knows how built Garrett is from the yoga class, but his ass in jeans is still a sight to behold. His lip slips back between his teeth, tugged gently while he tries to hold in a soft groan. It takes all of Anders’ willpower to turn back around towards the empty seat in front of him, and even more to settle his heart. Maybe espresso wasn’t the best idea.

When Garrett returns to their table it’s with a mug of his own, full of something dark, and balancing a small plate on his forearm that has two cat shaped donuts on it. 

“I know you said you didn’t want anything, but Maker, they’re just so cute I had to do it,” Garrett almost laughs, picking one of them up between the ears, waving it back and forth. “I’ll have to bring Merrill here, she would love it.” 

Anders’ brows furrow. “Merrill?” 

Taking a bite out of the donut, the cat’s ear disappears at once, washed down by a quick sip of his drink. “Mar’s girlfriend. She was in the waiting room with our brother while you sewed me up. The tiniest woman you’ll ever see, size wise at least. I swear she sews her own clothes not because she enjoys it, but because it’s the only way anything will fit.” 

A snort presses from Anders’ nose. This is the ease he remembered from before. The humor that falls easy from Garrett without thought and lulls Anders in.

“Right, right. Your sister, well, your twin. You said you were one of four right? Bethany is nothing like… Mar? What’s that short for?” Anders asks, forcing himself to relax further into his chair. 

“Marian. I'm the oldest—by three minutes, thank you—and then her. There was a nice six year period of being the only ones, and then Bethany and Carver came,” Garrett explains, mirroring him to sink back in his chair again. “You said you’re an only child? I wonder what that’s like. Quiet probably.” 

Anders tilts his head thoughtfully. “ _Well_ , not exactly. I was in several foster homes from twelve to eighteen, so still sort of loud. I never got close to any of my ‘siblings’.” 

Garrett sits up straight all at once, eyes set in that fearful alert people always seem to get when Anders mentions this. _Shit, I shouldn’t have mentioned that so soon,_ Anders thinks, hiding his grimace with another sip. 

“Maker, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag anything up, I was just making conversation,” Garrett apologizes, hands trying to twist together in his lap. They sit barely touching as his injured one flinches. 

Anders waves his hand in the air in dismissal. He doesn’t want Garrett pitying him. He doesn’t want anyone pitying him, really. It’s why he usually doesn’t bring it up. 

“It’s fine, I promise. I turned out alright, I think.” 

“A doctor that does yoga part time? There are worse things to be.” The tension eases in Garrett’s shoulders again and he nudges the plate forward softly. “Try one, unless you’re allergic to gluten, or something. Maker’s breath, I swear I’m usually better at this.” 

“At what?” Anders asks, grin threatening on his cheeks as he picks up the other donut. “I’m not, by the way. Allergic to gluten, that is.” 

“Oh, good,” Garrett sighs, roughly taking another bite of his own, chewing quickly before forcing a swallow. And here Anders thought he was the anxious one. “And, I don’t know. At… dating? Unless this isn’t a date and I have managed to stumble twice in the last minute. Which honestly wouldn’t even be a new record.” 

Anders’ chest pulls at the confirmation of the unspoken title of this outing. It pushes him forward, makes him lean up with a little more confidence before answering. 

“I thought it was. I don’t typically invite people out after they’ve called me both ‘attractive’ and ‘hot’ in back to back messages and it not be a date,” Anders says, and his eyes float around the room once before finding Garrett’s again. They’re wide, shiny and pinched as he grins. 

It seems as if that attractive boyish charm doesn’t fade, regardless of the location. _A pro and a con all at once_ , Anders thinks as he dry swallows. 

“You’ll learn one of my fatal flaws is being overly honest. It worked out this time, but just you wait,” Garrett warns before popping the rest of the donut in his mouth. Reaching out, he scritches beneath a persian’s chin, humming along with the cat’s purr.

“I highly doubt that would be a bad thing,” Anders offers, resting his head on his hands. Good with cats, good with conversation… everything is lining up nicely. “How’s your hand doing by the way? I have to say you did a good job wrapping it again.” 

Garrett twists his injured hand in the air, lip quirking in an accomplished smile. “Yeah? I do have to say, showering with one hand stuck out of the curtain and the other washing myself was a challenge I wasn’t prepared for. Any advice, doc?” 

Anders crinkles his nose in argument. “For Andraste’s sake, please don’t call me doc. It makes me feel like I’m seventy and yelling at patients like some of the attendings.” 

A laugh shakes from Garrett, loud enough to chase off several cats that were draped behind him. He stops for a second to wince, but continues to chuckle, quieter. 

“What should I call you then?” 

“Just Anders is fine, thanks. I’d rather not be seen as a doctor all the time. It’s stressful enough as it is, which is why I started yoga in the first place,” Anders explains, swirling the last bit of his latte around. 

“Just Anders. I can do that.” Garrett takes another drink, leg starting to bounce gently under the table. “So, Just Anders, when can we do this again?” 

“We haven’t even finished doing this right now!” His heart betrays him further, beating hard enough he’s certain Garrett can also hear it just as loud as it’s thudding behind his ears.

He’s never met someone as forthright as Garrett before, save for Isabela. Even then, they’re completely different flavors of the same personality. Where Isabela wants to drag you along for the ride, Garrett asks in a way that you can’t possibly want to say no. 

Not with a smile like that. Not with his kind of sincerity. 

_How in the Maker’s name is this man single?_

“Yes, but I have a feeling that as soon as we are finished that I’ll wonder about the next one. I told you, the honesty thing, it’s not great,” Garrett sighs, but meets Anders’ eyes with an assured grin. “I can make whatever work, but is there any way we can do somewhere with heartier food next time? I’m trying not to be piggish right now to put on a good face, but truly I could eat about four more of those little kitties.” 

“I hope you mean the donuts,” Anders teases and Garrett snorts a confirmation. “Well, I could call out of teaching the class next Tuesday and we could do dinner?” 

“Don’t cancel your class for me! What if I come to the class—and promise to be extra careful and not use my hand at all—and then after we get dinner? How about that?” Garrett’s leg bounces harder with each sentence, nearly shaking the table by the time he finishes. 

Anders has a feeling if he doesn’t agree the table might just upend over Garrett’s leg. Not that he would ever be so stupid to decline more time with him. 

“I take it you have a place in mind?” Anders asks, pulling his phone up. “What’s it called?” 

Garrett shakes his head once, settling both elbows on the table. “You’ll find out when we get there. Just trust me. Indulge in a little mystery.” 

Eyebrows raise both in genuine and mock curiosity on Anders’ face. He had a feeling that Garrett was the ‘wherever life takes you’ type, but he’s finding that he’s not only correct but also likely underestimating him by the minute. It pulls the same butterflies into him like earlier and when Garrett’s knee knocks against his own, they nearly burst. 

An effect not lost on his date, at least, when Garrett again stiffens and forces his leg still. 

“So?” He asks, grin wavering in the corner of his mouth, “I promise it’ll be worth your night.”

“I don’t doubt it. How could I turn down a night out with a man who got so excited over Jeopardy he sliced his hand open?” 

Garrett sends a soft kick into Anders’ calf, along with a huff from his lips. It makes Anders feel… something. Something his mind keeps trying to piece together from his friends, but is truly far different than any of them combined. 

He watches as Garrett sends a quick glance to his phone and grimaces at the time. “Sorry I can’t stay longer, but I promised the girls I would help them with the store this afternoon. Who needs paid labor when you have brothers, right?” 

Disappointment grabs Anders’ stomach, and for a single second he considers offering his own assistance. A thought that is truly dizzying since Anders has never once willingly offered to do manual labor for free in his life. Much less on his day off. 

This man has the strangest effect on him. 

“Not using your hand I hope,” Anders scolds as Garrett lifts up to stand. “I will see you Tuesday and no earlier in an ER, you hear me?” 

A forced nod along with a sharp salute is given, and this time it’s Anders’ turn to swat at Garrett’s hip. His hand is caught mid-motion, wrist kept easily in Garrett’s hold, and his mouth goes dry all at once. It’s pulled upwards and a quick kiss is pressed into it, sending Anders’ the rest of his body to go white and dry of any sensation before catching fire. 

“I don’t typically kiss on the first date, mind you, but I would kick myself all day if I didn’t at least give you that,” Garrett says, voice even and soft as Anders knows he is once again speaking honestly. 

It throws Anders’ mind into what it would be like to wake up next to him, hearing the same tone breathed across his neck. A thought quickly swatted away while he stands up just as fast, knee slamming against the table and is only steadied by his still held wrist. The loud skittering of claws against the floor and beams makes them both wince. 

“We’re never going to be allowed back in here if we keep scaring the cats,” Garrett mutters, but laughs as Anders rights himself. “You’re worried about _me_ , but watch yourself Just Anders. We _both_ have to make it to Tuesday.” 

“Right, right. Tuesday then,” Anders agrees, swallowing back the shake that is begging to resonate in his tone. “We aren’t going completely old fashioned are we? I can still text you until then.” 

“You’ve already seen that I’ll send book length messages without response. I have no shame, so please,” Garrett laughs before grimacing at the soft buzz in his pocket. “I really have to go and I really don’t want to, but as long as you know that, I think I’ll live.” 

Anders’ wrist is squeezed once before it’s dropped, left to hang on his side as Garrett walks towards the door. Again, Anders watches as he walks away, but this time his focus is higher. It sits on his date’s neck, flushed red just like his probably is and it brings Anders’ stomach to settle just a touch. 

He’s never felt pulled to someone like this before. A deep achy feeling that lingers in the back of his throat like a drink that had too much cream. 

His hand twitches thinking about picking up his phone, but he doesn’t know who to text first. Isabela would likely be supportive of going all in on a guy he just met, but might not know how to make it last. Nathaniel would probably run a background check on Garrett the second he found out, claiming it was for Anders’ peace of mind and not his own. 

Neither of these are what he needs. He needs something in between. 

Tapping on the contact as he leaves the cafe, he starts to walk as the line rings. When it connects, the flood of comfort Anders was searching for hits, and he knows he made the right choice. 

“Karl, are you at home by any chance? I just left a date and my head feels about six kinds of scrambled,” Anders sighs, unlocking his car. When he shifts inside to sit, his head feels heavy before landing back on the headrest.

“Yeah, I’m home, and I definitely want to hear this,” Karl replies, tone clearly excited in his words. 

“Good,” Anders sighs, cranking his car, “because you were going to anyway.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you to my good bud for the above art. I'm still so soft about it. Please check out the rest of [ her stuff](https://twitter.com/dalish_rogue?s=20) and give her a follow anyways because she's cool and wonderful regardless. <3


	3. Little Red Strings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian's store holds a lot more than things to thrift.

“Don’t put those there, they’ll never get seen by the right people,” Marian chides, pulling the box from Carver’s hands. 

“Who are the right people to see an assortment of graphic tees from a tv show I’ve never heard of?” Carver asks, narrowing his eyes as he pulls a shirt out. He holds it up against his chest, holding a hand towards the phrase ‘You Dig It?’ and raises a brow. “Where does something like this belong at all if not here amidst all the other random shirts?” 

Marian moves farther down the row, settling next to a rack of random button ups. Grabbing hangers, she starts to rack the shirts and tilts a head to direct Carver to follow. His hand grazes a stack of books against a shelf, finger lingering on a cracked spine. The store has no real order that he’s ever understood and swears Marian doesn’t know either. Still, people find things, buy them and they’re kept afloat. 

Feels like magic as far as Carver is concerned. 

“They belong where the cross section of the right kind of person will want them. If someone is in here looking for a thrifted button up they’ll probably also vibe with a weird graphic tee they don’t understand. They’re also, probably, gay. So, it’s a good bet,” She explains, with a grin on her face. “It’s where I would look.” 

A soft snort presses from Carver’s nose. “Right, right. That _is_ why you own the store. Your mastermind ability to know how people thrift should never be doubted. Oh, great storekeeper.”

Marian narrows her eyes, kicking the box closer to him as she stands. Tucking her hands into her pockets, she surveys the rest of the store. They open again in a few hours for the afternoon and she always has a nice group that comes by after she restocks. Brings a specific kind of joy to know people are eager to give new life to old objects. Pieces of people woven by funny little shirts and ceramic cats. Something new found from someone else's past. 

“Just finish that and I’ll get you dinner, alright?” She asks, ruffling his hair before moving back to the counter. “What do you want?” 

“Burgers!” Carver calls, hands still working to rack the shirts. Narrowing his eyes he looks back at her. “Where is Garrett? He was supposed to be helping too.” 

“He’s also injured, so I’m not sure how much he could help anyways,” Marian sighs, starting to count buttons against the glass. “He also said he was meeting someone, but would be late. Don’t worry, you’re not the only free labor I abuse. You’re just my favorite.” 

Carver’s eyes fall at his sister’s sweet talk, shaking his head. Both she and Garrett have a penchant for knowing exactly what to say to people. It was the entire reason Marian had the store space in the first place. She had talked the lease down a full four hundred dollars a month somehow and all Carver could do is marvel at his sister’s skill. Bethany was just as bad, but didn’t quite have the glimpse of intimidation Marian had at times. 

“I’m surprised the two of you haven’t gone into politics given how good you are at buttering people up to use them. You would go far.” 

“Madam President Marian Hawke,” Marian declares, raising her hands up before pressing them into her hips. “I like the sound of that.” 

Merrill comes out from the back, arms wrapped around several large coats before gently pressing them against the counter with a grin. “Would that make me a first lady? Oh, how exciting that would be. Think of all the parties—the dresses!” 

Leaning forward, Marian pulls at her neck, pressing a kiss against her girlfriend’s head. It draws a giggle from her but a soft groan from Carver. Just as Marian is going to retort at her younger brother’s discomfort, the bell on the door rings. 

“Well, look who decided to show up,” Carver mutters, eyeing Garrett as he walks in and purses his lips when his brother leans against the counter. “Are you here just to look pretty? That’s no help.” 

“Oh, I think that’s a very helpful trait,” Garrett smirks, holding a hand out to Merrill. “Just look at Merrill, she’s gorgeous and it’s the entire reason the store hasn’t gone under. Run a poll, I’m positive.” 

She laughs, smacking Garrett’s arm as Marian nods in agreement. “Creators, the Hawke’s live to make me blush. I don’t know how I can get anything done with the two of you, honestly.” 

“Me either,” Carver mutters.

Garrett moves around the back of the counter, settling next to Marian as he too starts to sort and count the jar of small random rings. He curls his injured hand, trying to keep it to the side, but hisses when he accidentally clenches it in concentration. 

“Can’t believe you’re going to have a cool sexy scar on your hand and not me,” Marian mutters, pulling another pile to herself, sorting the phrases from the pictures. Looking at him until she catches his eye, she raises a brow. “I also can’t believe you knew the doctor. At least we have someone in our pocket the next time something happens.” 

“I can,” Carver remarks, walking back up to lean against the edge. He watches as Garrett throws him a look and returns it sharper. “What? You know everyone. Both of you do. It’s insane.” 

Looking between the three of them, Merrill catches Marian’s eye and smiles with a silent question. Marian nods, tilting her head towards the back. Collecting the coats in her arms, she nudges Carver gently, holding her arms up in direction. 

“Come help? This should be the last thing and then we can eat,” Merrill assures, starting to walk. 

Perking up at once, Carver nods and starts to move without a second thought to his siblings. 

“You think he realizes it, or—” Garrett hums, turning to look at Marian. “Does it bother you?” 

“Na,” Marian dismisses, smiling softly, “It’s harmless. Besides, what can I do? Blame him? Look at her!” Holding a hand up to Merrill, she grins wider only to let it fall when she catches Garrett matching her joy. “Maker, please get into a relationship. I’m the only one and you’re all so evil about it.” 

“We aren’t _evil_ ,” Garrett argues. Dumping the rest of the rings back in, he looks defeatedly at the paper. “There are fifty six of them, but I can’t catalogue them. I want to write again. I never thought I would miss writing so much.” 

Marian coos, scratching his back. “You poor thing. Hand hurt and fixed by a cute doctor that you met at _yoga_. What a horrible life you lead… tell me you called him.” 

“I texted him five times in utter panic overnight and then questioned my life choices until he responded.” 

“Well, usually that works.”

“Apparently. I just left getting coffee with him, actually.” 

“ _What_? G you have to _lead_ with that!” Marian accuses, shoving his shoulder. Pushing herself up, she settles onto the counter, legs swinging excitedly as she meets his eyeline. “Out with it. Where did you go? That little place on fifth? He seems like the type.” 

Garrett curls his unharmed hand, thinking about how Anders’ wrist felt trapped in his hold. How he kissed his hand in a spur of the moment decision and how his lips are still buzzing even now. The healer’s hands were cold within his own, little blocks of ice, and he wanted nothing more than to melt him. 

“Actually, a cat café on eleventh,” Garrett says, glancing back at Merrill. She’s climbed a ladder, pressing things up against a higher shelf as Carver nervously hovers beneath her. “You should take Merrill. They had these little cat donuts that were beyond cute.” He pauses, fidgeting with the gauze on his palm. “I told Anders she would like them.” 

“ _Anders…_ ” Marian purrs, grinning wider. “You said his name differently.” 

“I said it like anyone else’s name,” Garrett argues, brow furrowed. Holding a hand up between them he presses his fingers to his thumb as if he could hold the name. “Anders. _Anders._ Anders. See? Normal. No inflection to look into.” 

“Mmhm, sure. Just let me know when the wedding is, ok? I’ll make sure to shut the store down to prepare.” 

“It was a first date, Mar. Besides, he’s a doctor. What would he want with someone like me anyways?” Garrett mutters, wincing. “He did get really nervous around me though. I did too, which is new for me. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to jump out of my skin more.” 

Almost as if Anders were there in front of him again, Garrett starts to tap his foot again. Something about the man made him want to fidget, which directly opposes both of the practices he works in. Funny how that works. Torture on a personal degree, prescribed for him. 

“This is so cute,” Marian hums, reaching up to fidget with the top of Garrett’s shirt. “At least you’ve clued into _why_ he makes you feel this way. Instead of me thinking that Merrill was just a really good friend for months on end.” 

“You are many things, but that was not your brightest moment. She kissed you and you asked me if friends just did that stuff when they were close.” 

Marian smacks his shoulder. “Maker, don’t remind me or I’ll be miserable about the wasted time again. Just, learn from my mistakes. Go for the man. It’s clear he likes you too if he asked to meet up this quickly.” 

“He doesn’t have a lot of free time, obviously, so I told him I would work around him. Easier that way,” Garrett reasons, scratching at his neck. “Gonna take him to that place Varric suggested next week. The nice steakhouse with the cool aquarium.” Pausing, he blanches for a moment. “Maker, what if he’s a vegetarian? I didn’t ask.” 

Marian laughs, reaching out and holding Garrett’s face to force his focus on her. They’ve always bounced things off of each other, knowing the other would catch it with ease. This is no different as she pockets her brother’s anxiety and squeezes his beard in her fingers. 

“Wow… calm down. Just text him. You really like him don’t you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before,” Marian says, studying him. It would be amusing if there wasn’t genuine panic in his eyes. “Also, I’m sure there are still things he could eat there even if he was.” 

Closing his eyes, Garrett forces a deep breath in before pulling out of his sister’s hold. “It’s all Beth’s fault. She sent me to him on purpose and I haven’t even gotten the chance to scold her for it properly. How _dare_ she know me this well?” His grin returns as he strolls back out to the floor of the store, hands in his pockets. “I’ll text him. Any other advice, oh wise relationship wielder?” 

With narrowed eyes, Marian follows, but continues past him towards a rack. Sorting through it quickly, she picks up a solid black button up, waving it gently in the air before tossing it to him. He catches it just barely before it completely falls, and he lifts a brow in question. 

“You’ll look good in black. If he doesn’t kiss you after seeing you in _that_ then I can’t help you.” Her hands continue to file through the rack, pulling a tee up to him. It’s green with faded and cracked white text that reads ‘You’re Welcome’. “Wear this the morning after?” 

“Maybe,” Garrett smirks, but his face falls. “Maybe not. I don’t want him to think… I just—” 

“G, you’re overthinking this to an absurd degree,” Marian sighs, spacing the shirts back out. Looking up to the clock, she hums. “Store should open in ten. Can you help out this afternoon on register or do you have somewhere else to be?” 

Garrett shakes his head, walking back to the counter before tucking the shirt beneath it. “Fenris is busy reorganizing the class schedule for the gym and Bela is probably making his life a nightmare in the process. You couldn’t pay me to go over there right now.” 

“Oh, I would. I love watching them go at it. She knows where all his buttons are and sometimes he even smiles,” Marian grins, walking towards the front of the store. She undoes the lock, flipping the sign over to open and sighs. “Alright, well. We’re good to go for a while. I’m going to take Carver out for food like I promised. Will you be ok here alone?” 

Shooting his sister a look, she laughs, resting against the door. Carver returns from the back, hands dusting against his legs, eyeing the two of them before shaking his head. 

“Burgers,” He offers, holding a hand out to Marian. “You promised.” 

“I did. So, let’s go.” Pushing back on the door, she throws a hand up to Merrill, urging her to hurry. 

Garrett watches as they all leave, settling back onto the chair behind the register, letting his legs swing. He finds the stereo remote, turning the music up a touch but within minutes he’s already fidgeting with something to do. Until, that is, his phone buzzes. Anders’ name processes in his mind along with the preview text, making him smile. 

_“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”_ It says, followed by a frowning emoji. 

_“Nope.”_

_“Not a single hint. What if you were going to take me off to kill me? A lot of trust you’re asking me to give you.”_

_“I know. Isn’t that what makes it fun?”_

There was a longer pause in Anders’ next response. Just enough to make Garrett get up and start to pace before it buzzed in his hand. 

_“I’m starting to realize your definition of fun might rival a friend of mine.”_

_“Then you keep good company.”_ Garrett hesitated, but put a winking emoji before hitting send. 

The bell to the store chimes, making him look up with a hopefully unreddened face, but once he spies who it is he blows out a huff of relief. Tutting, he walks up, hand resting against his lower back until he reaches the door, smirk wide on his face. 

“Now, what are you doing here, Bela? Finished torturing Fen?” Garrett asks, letting her tuck her arms around his neck. “It’s my turn isn’t it?” 

Isabela hums a laugh, releasing him in favor of looking around. “No, I’m not here to torture you. I knew Mar was restocking and wanted to see if there was anything good before it got picked through.” She looks back at him, searching his face for a moment before turning to the rack, picking through shirts. “What has you red? Or maybe the better question is who…” 

“Maker’s breath, you don’t skirt around things,” Garrett mutters, walking back to lean against the counter. He holds his phone in his hand scrolling lazily through the messages. “A guy I met last week. Yoga instructor who then turned out to be an ER doctor that helped me patch up this little number.” He swivels his hurt hand in the air, sighing. “We got coffee earlier and I’m going to take him out again Tuesday. It’s just… interesting. He’s interesting.” 

Isabela listened closely, brows furrowing at the description. “Blonde, is he? Strawberry. Lanky but still muscular?” 

Garrett looked at her, eyes narrowing. “Bela _please_ don’t tell me you know him. That could mean so many things.” 

“ _Excuse you_! We only slept together _once,_ and it was in college. Well, he was in college. I was visiting my friends and well, you know,” She says, waving a hand off. “Anders… Maker. The red strings the world has. It is Anders, isn’t it?” Blush again burns against Garrett’s cheeks and she laughs. “Oh, this is just darling. You two would make a good match. You’re tamer than me, but you’ll get him to actually try something for once.” 

Again, Garrett’s foot starts to bounce, but this time it’s in excitement and not anxiety. Isabela knew him, trusted him, and thought they were a good match. Maybe he wasn’t so off base thinking it could be something. 

“He did say I would rival a friend’s definition of fun. I’m not telling him where I’m taking him for dinner, and he’s apparently desperate to know,” Garrett hums, smiling again. “I assume that _friend_ is you.” 

Buttoning on a shirt over her tunic she laughs. “Oh, absolutely. Otherwise it’s Karl or Nate and neither of them have a whimsical bone in their body.” Walking over to a mirror on the wall, she fluffs her hair out gently, looking to catch Garrett’s eye in the reflection. “You’re really nervous, aren’t you?” 

“Wouldn’t you be? He’s a _doctor_ for Andraste’s sake!” 

“ _So_? He’s still a sweet little cat man. Nothing to be afraid of, trust me,” She assures, adjusting the collar before turning around. “Thoughts?” 

Garrett laughs, rubbing his face with his uninjured hand. “I have so many thoughts right now. But as far as the shirt goes, yes, you look wonderful. You look good in anything, Bela. I don’t know why you’re asking.”

“Because,” She quips, walking back to hover in front of him, “I like hearing it. Now, if you’d like, I can fill you in on a lot of fun Anders trivia. Stuff that isn’t going to come out of a second date. You don’t need to know his favorite place to travel to, or what season he likes the most, or whatever nonsense the two of you will probably dance around for an hour.” Lowering her voice, she grins. “You want to know… the other stuff, don’t you?”

“No, actually.” Garrett pushes against her shoulder, righting her. “I’d rather get to know him by _getting to know him_. I don’t need a cheat sheet.” 

Isabela raises a brow and purses her lips into a curling Cheshire-like smile. “Well, then that makes everything a lot more interesting. Have it your way.” Turning back to the store she hums, scanning the walls. “Anything else worth pilfering in here apart from your love life?” 

Laughing he reaches back, and pulls the jar of rings forward. 

**Author's Note:**

> Starting another chaptered modern au? In my me? It's more likely than you think. 
> 
> Tumblr: @noswordstyle  
> Twitter: @__moes__


End file.
